


Incorrigible

by per_mare_ad_astra



Series: Shipmas 2017 [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: 12 days of shipmas, Astoria is tired, Baby's First Christmas, F/M, Lucius is that one racist relative that just won't shut up, Malfoy Family, and Draco's afraid they'll start duelling on the dining room table, awkward family dinner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 12:05:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12934905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/per_mare_ad_astra/pseuds/per_mare_ad_astra
Summary: “I will not tolerate such blatant disrespect towards my family’s traditions. The Malfoy line–”“This is not up for debate, Lucius,” Astoria interrupted. “Scorpius’s education is for Draco and I to worry about. Your opinion is both irrelevant and unwanted.”“He’ll be a blood traitor before he can even talk.”“Ideally, yes.”





	Incorrigible

**Author's Note:**

> My third fic for littlerose13writes's 12 Days of Shipmas! The prompt for day 3 is "Baby's first Christmas" :)

Draco awoke suddenly.

This wasn’t unusual. Even now, years after the war had ended, he still found himself torn away from sweet dreams by grim thoughts and memories that he’d rather not dwell on. He had started to heal only recently, aided by the sound of kind words, the brush of warm lips, the feel of a hand finding his in the dark and gripping it tightly.

Today, however, he appeared to be alone.

He opened his eyes, taking in the dull blue-grey light of early morning that pierced the dimness of their room, and exhaled slowly. She was there, by the window, silhouetted against the whiteness that lay beyond and holding a small bundle of blankets in her arms.

“… _und es schneit noch. Siehst du die kleinen Schneeflöckchen_?” Astoria was murmuring to their son as she watched the snowflakes fall, their shadows drifting slowly downwards. Scorpius blinked at her sleepily, lulled by her soft voice, and she pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. The sight of them was so lovely, so peaceful and perfect, that Draco couldn’t do anything but watch, entranced.

However, Astoria had always had a knack for knowing when his thoughts were focused on her. Her lips pulled up into a mischievous smile, and she said, without looking at him, “It’s polite to greet your wife when you wake up in the morning, Mr Malfoy.”

“It’s also polite not to steal your husband’s clothes, Mrs Malfoy,” he drawled.

His black velvet dressing gown was much too big for Astoria, but she still managed to make it look like it had been taylor-made just for her. She always looked stunning in everything she wore – or when she wore nothing at all. She smirked at him. “Come and take it if you want it so badly.”

She had always been exquisitely tempting, as well as fond of taunting and teasing. Even during their earlier days, when they had been nothing to each other but mere acquaintances, she’d pushed and prodded to get a reaction from him, challenging him at every turn. She’d danced just out of his reach, daring him to chase her, until Draco had finally given in. Theirs was a game of cat and mouse, and he had never been completely sure of which role he played.

His feet made no sound on the carpeted floor as he made his way towards the window. “You’re up early,” he said, slipping an arm around Astoria’s waist and kissing her cheek.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Astoria said brightly. Draco knew that meant the pain had woken her up once again. She was better than she had been a month ago, when the aftermath of childbirth and the blood curse’s increased viciousness had often caused her to cry out in the middle of the night, curling herself into a ball as if that would stop the burning agony while Draco could do nothing but watch and wait, trying to soothe her in any way he could. She’d had episodes during the day too, but those appeared to have stopped for now. It still terrified him, seeing how strong the malediction had become in such a short time.

“And Scorpius has been awake for a little while too,” Astoria went on, beaming at their son. He seemed more alert now, his eyes flitting from his mother’s face to his father’s, then back again. “But we had to wait for Dada before going to the living room to open our presents, didn’t we?” She directed the question at Scorpius, who gurgled and waved his arms at her.

“We’re going all the way to the living room?” That was new. They’d always opened their presents in bed.

“We’re doing this _properly_. Our son deserves the full Christmas experience.”

“He’s two months old, Astoria. I don’t think he’ll care.”

“Get your lovely, lazy, aristocratic arse off that bed, Draco. We’re going to the living room.”

“It’ll be cold there, and I seem to have misplaced my dressing gown,” he said sarcastically. Nevertheless, he relented and followed her out of the room.

The Manor was brighter than it had ever been. Astoria had instantly disliked the murky air when they’d first moved in a few months ago, and Draco had seen no reason to stop her when she’d decided to get rid of the dark furniture and heavy curtains. Their home was all the better for it: light flooded every inch of it, and the softer colours that Astoria had chosen for the walls and floors gave it a warmer, more inviting air. It hadn’t changed enough to become unfamiliar to him, but all reminders of the nightmarish months he’d spent there during Voldemort’s rule, which had continued to haunt him after the war, had disappeared.

Though Astoria had taken care to bedeck every inch of the house, the living room was particularly festive. Silver tinsel and garlands hung from the fireplace, the shelves, the backs of the sofa and armchairs. Thanks to a clever little spell, dozens of glass snowflakes floated close to the ceiling,glittering beautifully and making spots of light dance around the room. But most impressive of all was, of course, the tree. It wasn’t quite as bright as it should have been, since they hadn’t been able to go fairy hunting that year, but Astoria had still spent an entire afternoon decorating it. Persuading Draco to join in had been simple; his wife had him wrapped around her little finger and she knew it, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

The small stack of presents they’d placed beneath the tree was still there, so Draco sat down next to it with his legs stretched out in front of him, leaning on his left hand. Astoria lowered herself to the floor carefully, chatting to Scorpius in lilting German, to which he was responding with sweet cooing sounds.

“You’re staring,” she said after a few minutes, raising an eyebrow at Draco.

“You’re lovely,” he said simply. “Both of you.”

Astoria blew him a kiss. “Can you open Scorpius’s gift for him? The blue one.” He had learned to associate the way she was grinning right now with impending danger, and his wariness only grew when he didn’t recognise the present she had pointed out. What on earth had she bought, and why did she look so _eager_?

Slowly, methodically, Draco unwrapped the gift, wondering why she’d bothered to wrap it for Scorpius in the first place. And then the last piece of wrapping paper fluttered to the floor. 

He should have seen this coming.

Resting in his hands and being watched with intense curiosity by Scorpius, was a fluffy white ferret.

“Our son’s first Christmas present,” he said flatly, “is _that_?”

“Yep.” Astoria sounded entirely too smug.

“You’re very pleased with yourself, aren’t you?”

“Oh, very.”

“Will you _ever_ let it go?”

“Never. It’s a very fond memory.” Her eyes were sparkling. Astoria could tease him all she wanted; he would grin and bear it as long as it made her smile. He could always poke fun at her abysmal cooking if the need arose, anyway. “Go on, give it to him.”

It took Scorpius a couple of attempts to get a firm hold on the ferret; once he’d succeeded, he proceeded to press it against his mouth. Draco wondered, dispassionately, if he would attempt to eat it. It wouldn’t be healthy, but at least he’d be rid of the blasted thing.

Astoria was shaking with silent laughter at the expression on his face. “Can you hold him for a moment?” she asked eventually, once she’d calmed down a little.

“Anything for my sweet, loving wife.”

His body was already so familiar with how he had to hold himself, the exact way in which he had to cradle Scorpius in his arms, that he barely had to think about it anymore. It didn’t make him panic any less, though. As always, the irrational fear of hurting him, frightening him or somehow making him cry lingered, like a shadow he couldn’t get rid of. But Scorpius merely sneezed, then blinked up at him with those big grey eyes of his, identical to Draco’s own. He still hadn’t let go of the ferret.

“He likes it,” Astoria said happily, wrapping her arms around Draco’s waist. She rested her chin on his shoulder.

“Clearly more than you like me,” Draco said dryly. “I’d have thought my wife’s fond memories would be our wedding day, our first date…”

“I _am_ fond of those, as well as a few others,” Astoria replied playfully. “But you were a git at that age, darling, so witnessing that happy moment was _very_ satisfying.” She kissed him on the cheek, then reached down and tapped Scorpius lightly on the nose. “Dada’s going to tell you all about his exploits as a bouncing ferret while Mama takes her medicine, and then we can open all of the other presents.” 

Draco rolled his eyes at her, and she patted him consolingly on the arm. He watched her leave, admiring the grace with which she moved and the way her dark curls cascaded down her back, but an insistent tug on his hair soon forced him to look down at his son. It seemed that, despite his interest in the ferret, Scorpius’s favourite toy was still his father’s ponytail.

“That hurts, you know,” Draco said conversationally.

Scorpius only tugged harder, gurgling at him.

His first Christmas, his first present… Draco would remember these things, tuck them away in the corner of his mind that belonged solely to Scorpius and perhaps share them with him when he grew older. _‘Your first gift was a toy ferret because your mother is incorrigible. Your first laugh was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard. The first time you fell asleep in my arms might not seem important to you, but it was to me, because it meant that you felt safe there.’_

“Look at you.” Astoria’s voice startled him; he hadn’t heard her come back. She was watching them both fondly, arms wrapped around herself. “My boys.” If you didn’t know her as well as Draco did, you would miss the wistfulness in her tone. The sadness.

Draco knew what she was doing, and he refused to let her thoughts wander down that dark path today. Settling himself carefully on the sofa, he invited Astoria to join them. She downed her Painkilling Potion before doing so, and her face was endearingly scrunched up when she curled up next to him.

“I swear the taste gets fouler and fouler every time I drink it,” she muttered.

“Are you sure you don’t want to–” he began hesitantly.

“I’m fine, Draco. Well, not _fine_ , but I’ve been worse. I can deal with this.”

“It’s been barely a month, Astoria,” he said softly. “If you need to cancel–”

“No,” Astoria said firmly. “I’m not giving your father the satisfaction.”

“Is he really worth it, Astoria?”

“I would walk over hot coals with bare feet just to spite Lucius Malfoy.” Her hazel eyes blazed. “Thankfully, sharing a meal with him won’t be as painful. Physically, at least.” And Draco knew that was the end of the discussion.

Yes, today would be a day of firsts for Scorpius. Christmas dinner would mark two: his first family meal and the first time he would see his grandparents. Draco didn’t doubt that it would be a memorable occasion, but not for the right reasons.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

“Draco.”

“Father.”

It seemed that Lucius’s resentment had not faded with time. Draco hadn’t really expected it to; forgiveness and kindness had never been in his nature, and there was a distinct lack of both as he regarded his son now. Their handshake was brief and stiff, much like every conversation they’d had since Draco had announced his intention to marry the strange, Muggle-loving Greengrass girl.

He hadn’t changed much. He was as imposing as ever, with his dark robes, ice-cold eyes and unbound, immaculate hair. Lucius still wore his power the way a king wears a crown. Months in Azkaban and the aftermath of the war had stolen many things from him, but not that. Never that. It was almost instinctive to cower in his presence, even for his own son. But Draco no longer idolised his father; he had seen him for what he was, with all his flaws. And he loved him still. Despite her feud with the man, Astoria understood this, and that was but one of the infinite reasons why he loved her. If it were up to her, Lucius would never set foot in that house again, but she would bear his disdain and offensive remarks for her husband’s sake.

She therefore smiled at at him, looking stunning in her brand-new azure robes, and nodded respectfully in acknowledgement.

“Lucius.” That smile had a razor-sharp edge to it. Draco knew she enjoyed it, being able to call his father by his first name; it was her right as his daughter-in-law, after all. A small victory, a reminder to him that they both stood on equal ground.

“Astoria,” his father greeted stiffly. He held her gaze for a few moments. Were it not for his bitterness and pureblood ideals, they would have got on rather well, but things were as they were. It was he who broke eye contact first, so that he could look at his grandson for the first time.

“And this is Scorpius,” he said softly. His icy grey eyes were fixed on their son, taking in every inch, but they betrayed no emotion.

Astoria stood a little taller. For all her swanlike grace and frail appearance, she could be as fierce as a mother dragon protecting its eggs where Scorpius was concerned. Her expression, though pleasant, had a tense edge to it. If Lucius dared show a hint of disapproval, which he seemed about to do, she would breathe fire.

Thankfully, Narcissa stepped in. She was not one to intervene, usually preferring to observe from the sidelines, but it seemed that she had made an exception for her grandson. The indifference she usually showed had been replaced by curiosity, as well as a hint of warmth.

“He looks remarkably like Draco,” she said, taking a step closer so that she might see him better. Astoria was still tense, but clearly less hostile; she had always held Narcissa in high regard. “May I hold him?”

“Of course.” Had Lucius attempted to make the same request, she would have refused him outright.

Scorpius looked up at his grandmother, surprised to find himself being held by someone who wasn’t Mama or Dada. He didn’t cry, though; he merely stared at her in that quiet, solemn way of his, and reached up a hand. Narcissa seemed to guess his intentions, as she tossed back her long, platinum hair before he could grab hold of it.

“You used to do the same thing to your father,” she told Draco. One glance at Lucius revealed that he hadn’t been softened in the slightest by this.

His attitude during the meal was no better. The sly, spiteful remarks kept on coming, focusing on Astoria’s work and health, and on Draco’s choice to remain at home with his family, rather than try to secure an influential position in the Ministry. It was the same vitriol they had to put up with every year, though Draco tried to keep Lucius’s attention on him this time. Pointing out Astoria’s shortcomings had always been one of his father’s favourite pastimes, and he knew her patience for it was waning.

However, a tense conversation about Minister Shacklebolt’s latest policies and Theodore Nott's current experiments, which interested his father for reasons Draco couldn’t care less about, could only last so long. By the time they’d moved on to the main course, they were both more interested in their wives’s exchange, which was still focused on Scorpius, who was fast asleep in the cot they’d placed by the table.

“Is he always this quiet?” Narcissa inquired.

“Yes, most of the time,” Astoria said with a hint of pride. “And he hardly ever wakes up at night.”

“He doesn’t take after Draco in that respect, then.” The two women shared a smile. Their relationship had always been rather tense, but Astoria’s pregnancy had provided something to bond over. “He was a very demanding child.”

Astoria would definitely tease him later. He could hardly wait.

“He’s very observant, too,” Astoria went on. It dawned on Draco that it must have been rather lonely for her, being stuck at home with no one to talk to apart from her husband. It was clear from her demeanour and eagerness that she longed to gush about her son, to share her love for him with the world. “He’s always watching us if we’re moving about the room. And he listens. I think he likes the sound of our voices, so we’ve been reading to him. He’s quite fond of German Muggle fairytales.”

That was the wrong thing to say, which was exactly why Astoria said it.

The air itself seemed to freeze, as if a Dementor were in the vicinity. Lucius and Narcissa’s expressions became stony.

Not caring if his parents noticed or not, Draco took Astoria’s right hand, rubbing his thumb against the back of it in soothing circles. Her grip tightened in response.

“Yes, German,“ Astoria said with a false little laugh, as if _that_ were the problem here. “I want him to learn the language; he should know where his Greengrass blood comes from. Of course, Draco will take care of French.”

Lucius reacted first, as Draco had expected. “Muggle fairytales?” he asked, a dangerous edge to his voice.

“Yes.”

“The heir of the Malfoy line, listening to _Muggle_ stories?”

“I’ve never liked Beedle’s tales, personally,” said Astoria, swirling the contents of her wine glass. “And we think learning about Muggle culture will be beneficial to his education.”

“My grandson’s education–”

“Is none of your concern.” Oh, she was getting angry now. Astoria was perhaps the most patient person Draco had ever met –indeed, if it weren’t for that patience, she wouldn’t have spared him a second thought after the war– but even she had her limits.

Narcissa had placed a hand on Lucius’s arm, her face a mask of indifference. Lucius tried to compose himself.

“I think it… inadequate, for someone of his status,” he said lightly.

“How unfortunate.”

Astoria would not be swayed on this. Lucius seemed to sense that too, for his tone had lost all pretence of politeness now. “I will not tolerate such blatant disrespect towards my family’s traditions. The Malfoy line–”

“This is not up for debate, Lucius,” Astoria interrupted. “Scorpius’s education is for Draco and I to worry about. Your opinion is both irrelevant and unwanted.”

“He’ll be a blood traitor before he can even talk.”

“Ideally, yes.”

Looking livid, Lucius turned to his son, nostrils flaring. “And you allow this, Draco?”

It had taken him too long to find the courage to stand up to his father. That first time had been terrifying, but it had only become easier since then, though his heart still picked up its pace when henonchalantly replied, “I don’t _allow_ Astoria to do anything, father. She does as she pleases – but naturally, this is something we’ve agreed on.”

“You will teach your son to love Muggles?” Lucius sneered.

“I will not teach my son hatred of any kind,” Draco said quietly, but firmly.

He heard a distressed sound, and he was out of his seat before Scorpius had begun to cry properly. He felt no need to excuse himself – that particular conversation was over as far as he was concerned, anyway, and his son would always be his first priority. He lifted him up gently, making soothing sounds. The talk behind him grew louder; he hadn’t realised they’d raised their voices so much. When his son calmed down, distracted by Draco’s hair, he turned around to face his family.

Lucius and Astoria were openly glaring at each other, thought neither of them had drawn their wand yet.

“I know it displeases you, Lucius, but we are family now,” Astoria was saying. “And I have as much power here as you do. Your house is mine, your name is mine.”

“And my son?” Lucius spat.

“Draco belongs to no one but himself,” she said coldly. “As does Scorpius. And you _will_ respect that, or I will kindly ask you to shut up and leave.”

In the end, they did not need to be asked. As soon as the meal was done, Lucius strode out the front door without a second glance at his son, and Narcissa’s farewell was distinctly colder than her greeting. Draco wished he could say he wasn’t sorry to see them go, but a part of him was. In spite of everything, Lucius and Narcissa had been all he had for a very, very long time.

“So, all in all, it’s been a moderately exciting family reunion, don’t you think?” Astoria said later that evening as they cuddled on the sofa, Scorpius cradled in her arms. “Not as memorable as the time you announced our engagement, though. We’ll have to try harder next year.”

He snorted. “Try any harder and I fear you’ll end up duelling my father on top of the dining room table.”

“Don’t be silly, Draco,” she chided. “We’d take it to the drawing room. It would be an excellent excuse to smash some of those ghastly vases. I’ve been wanting to get rid of them for ages.”

“You could just stuff them in the basement, you know,” he said dryly. “Or is that too tame for you?”

She nudged him. “That would be terribly boring, and you know I love a bit of fun.”

They both looked at Scorpius, who was playing with his ferret once again and had now stuffed its tail in his mouth.

“We’re doing a good job, aren’t we?” Astoria murmured, sounding a little more serious than usual.

“An excellent job, I’d say,” Draco replied. “Every choice my father disapproves of is a step in the right direction, and we appear to have made quite a few of those.”

“True.” Astoria kissed him softly on the lips. “You were brave today.”

“So were you.”

“And we’ll tell Scorpius all about it when he’s older, won’t we?”

“Of course. He deserves to know you once told his grandfather to shut up.”

“I still can’t believe I did that.”

“It was magnificent.”

Astoria laughed, then began to pepper kisses along his jaw and cheek. Normally, he would have let himself enjoy this, but he couldn’t let go of one last thing that was bothering him.

“Was the ferret _really_ necessary, Astoria?”

“It’s Malfoy family history, darling. Isn’t that the kind of thing Lucius wants us to teach him? Let’s respect that, at least.”

And Draco, much like Lucius, knew when he was fighting a losing battle against Astoria, so he conceded defeat.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so in love with this couple <3
> 
> This is the first of many Drastoria fics I'm planning to write, so if you liked it, kudos and/or reviews would be greatly appreciated!


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